


Rather be the hunter than the prey

by BohemianInk



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: A whole lot of them, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Multi, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, did not stay that way for long, now it's more of a 'the Last of Us' kind of deal, started as a 'zombieland' kinda thing, there are zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BohemianInk/pseuds/BohemianInk
Summary: It had taken two weeks for the virus to spread around the Continent. Three for it to reach her small town. A month for the government to tell people about it. And only ten minutes for her family to decide to abandon her to her fate with only a glorified bread knife to defend herself.Rebuilding herself and finding a new family in the middle of a zombie apocalypse though? Now that might take a while.In which Tissaia is trying to save humanity, Yennefer is looking for her will to live, Sabrina did not sign up for this shit and Triss just wants everyone to get along.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Sabrina Glevissig & Yennefer of Vengerberg, Sabrina Glevissig/Triss Merigold, Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold & Tissaia de Vries, Triss Merigold & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW for attempted suicide and suicidal thoughts  
> Please take care.

It had taken two weeks for the virus to spread around the Continent. Three for it to reach her small town. A month for the government to tell people about it. And only ten minutes for her family to decide to abandon her to her fate with only a glorified bread knife to defend herself.

"We can't take her with us, she'll slow us down. You know she will, her and that damn, bloody leg of hers! Think of our children!"

 _Our_ children. Of course. Good to know that even in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, her step-father still found the time and energy to hold her mother's first marriage against her. But the look her mother threw her way, without even turning to look her in the eye as her husband told her to leave her first child to die… Despite herself, Yennefer had hoped that maybe this time, just for once, she would actually say something, anything, instead of just staring at her like she was just as powerless as her daughter. She had hoped that maybe she would say "No. No, we are not leaving without her. She is my daughter and I love her. We are not leaving her. Over my dead body."

Or, you know, something like that anyway. Just a "no" would have sufficed, really, but even that had been too much to ask of the woman who had mastered the art of turning a blind eye over the last twenty years. It was one thing when it was a cruel remark, another when it was a cuff over the head, and even yet another when it was dark bruises she had to hide. But this… Her mother may have not killed her, but her silence had certainly sealed her fate.

And when she came up to Yennefer, stuck in that bed and forced to watch as her mother abandoned her, all to increase their chance of survival, with that fucking look in her eyes and placing a bottle of water, some pain killers and two packets of crackers, like that would change anything… Gods, but Yennefer had barely stopped herself from spitting in her face.

And now, two days later, still in that bed, unable to move and her stomach digesting itself, her only regret was to not have gone through with it. Well, that and not clubbing her step-father to death with her crutch when she still had the chance. The son of a bitch was probably already dead anyway though, one of those creatures gnawing on his leg like a dog on a bone. But even that image failed to bring a smile to her face.

 _Creatures_. Even now, on the verge of death, she couldn't bring herself to think the actual word. It was just too bloody ridiculous, and if she hadn't seen their neighbor, Micah, get his throat torn out by one of them with her own two eyes, she might have laughed. But she could still hear his guttural cries, the way they had so abruptly ended, and the sound that thing had made as it turned a boy she had known all her life into its afternoon snack in mere seconds, and so she didn't. Lying there though, she did not feel the need to pretend she was saddened by his death, not when she was a day or two away from her own. He had been a dick to her her entire life, and though murder by a creature-that-was-definitely-supposed-to-remain-a-horror-flick-character was not what she had in mind all those times she had wished he would just go away, she still could not find it in herself to shed a tear over his fate. Did that make her a bitch? Yennefer smiled without humor. What a time for self-discovery. She wondered though, what was better? Dying in her bed from dehydration or joining the ranks of the army of the dead? She might hate the idea of dying in such a lonely, quiet way, but the idea of shuffling around forever, making those grotesque sounds, flesh, and hair falling out in clumps, did not thrill her either. On the few occasions she had thought about this, about her death, she had known that there would be no crowd by her side in her last moments, but she had hoped that she would have made some friends by then, or at least one, that someone would have cared enough to be there for her, but staring at her blank walls and her bare room, at her crutch leaning against an empty chair… Her own mother had left her. Was it really any surprise she was alone?

Yennefer closed her eyes, too exhausted to hold onto her lingering fury, the water bottle lying empty on the floor and the packets of crackers licked clean. Only the sound of rain hitting her window and the distant rumble of thunder managed to soothe her. That, and the knowledge that it would soon all be over and then she could just… What?

She stared at the old water stains on the ceiling and the many tiny holes she used to think were stars placed there just for her as a child and thought. She could just what, exactly? Watch over her family, if any of them were even still alive? Lead them into a horde of those things and watch as they'd get devoured despite her unwilling sacrifice? Well no, not her siblings. After all, punishing the children for their parents' sins was her step-father's specialty, not hers. Or maybe she'd be reincarnated and get to experience all this shit all over again. Wouldn't that be nice? To live in this chaotic world, in which the law of the strongest would be the only logical one and in which she would not manage to survive a single day. After all hadn't she been sacrificed for the Greater Good only a few weeks in this new world? Or maybe…

Maybe she would just cease to exist. Maybe this was it and there was nothing else in store for her. There one moment, gone the next, a shitty death for a shitty life. She wouldn't even be mad or surprised, really. Actually, she might even welcome it. Finally, some peace. The longer she thought about it, the more pleasant the idea became. She would still be alone, yes, but would she still be lonely? After all, if she ceased to exist, then everyone else would, no? The weight of their judgment would disappear and she would finally be allowed to escape their heavy stares, always drawn to her leg as if hypnotized by it, their eyes filled with uncomfortable interest or pity, never letting her breathe, always suffocating her.

She was going to die, of that, there was no doubt, so why even wait for the inevitable, she thought? Why wait for her throat to get impossibly dry, for the hunger pangs to grow unbearable, for her head to become even heavier? Was there really any point in waiting? It was only going to get worse from here, she knew, so why not put an end to it while she still could? While she still had the strength to do this? She had been left here to die, yes, but she still had power over this one last thing.

Her gaze was drawn to the long knife and its blunt teeth and she considered it for a moment. Slowly, painfully, she reached for it, her hand shaking, though she refused to acknowledge why. _Just the hunger_ , she insisted. _Gods, I'm so weak, it's pathetic. Just end it already!_

And yet despite her increasingly agitated thoughts, Yennefer simply held the blade for a few long moments. Carefully, she lifted it, examining the teeth and grimacing at how dull they seemed. There was no place for hesitation here, no mistake allowed. She was to end her suffering, not worsen it. She pressed the knife to her left forearm and shivered. She hadn't expected it to be so cold. She added a bit more pressure, then a bit more, and again some more, but still nothing happened.

She had once read in a book - or maybe she had seen it in a movie, or some TV show, or… nevermind, that didn't really matter now, did it - but anyway, she had heard that dying from hemorrhage - which is what would happen! It was as simple as that, that's all it was at the end of the day, really - was just like falling asleep. First, she would faint from the blood loss, and then, she would just… fade away. Just like that. There one moment, gone the next.

Now, she just… had to do it. She just- She just had to- Just had to press a bit more, until the skin broke, and then she would just-. _That's a lot of blood_ , was Yennefer's first thought. _That's a lot of my blood_ , was Yennefer's second thought. _I didn't know I had so much blood_ , was Yennefer's third thought, and would probably have been her last one ever if not for the following event.

Yennefer heard a noise.

Not just any noise either, but one she had heard nearly every day of her life, and so had most people probably: she heard the door open. And then, she heard a voice. One belonging to a woman.

"Mom?", she tried to call out, but could only whisper. She was here. She had come back. For her. For Yennefer. She had really-.

"Mom", she called, but her voice failed her again, and she wasn't even sure she had managed to make a sound. But it seemed to work, as footsteps started to come closer to her room.

"Mom", she tried one last time, her eyes starting to close and a tiny smile stretching her lips. She had come back for her, she really had. She would not be alone after all!

The door to her bedroom opened, and it was only when lightning flashed close to her window, illuminating the room for a too-brief instant, that she realized that the woman standing there, hair dripping on the carpet and eyes so icy she felt a chill down to her bones, was not, in fact, her mother.


	2. Chapter 2

Yennefer slowly woke up to the sound of quiet arguing which wouldn't have been all that different from how she usually started her day if not for the quiet part. Had her step-dad finally discovered the wonderful concept of 'inside voice'? What next? Her mother finally talking back? Yeah right. Finally opening her eyes, she squinted against the pale, cold light of the early morning. Had her siblings already made a mess? Good gods, it was barely… She turned toward her bed table to look at her alarm clock and slowly blinked. No red numbers blinked back at her. Was the power out? Was that why they were arguing? She stared at it for a few more moments, finding it harder to concentrate than usual. She had never been a morning person, true, but this… was just…

She woke up a second time to the feeling of being watched. This too was familiar. She opened her eyes again, feeling just a tad less sluggish than before, yet it still took her a few seconds before her gaze landed on the intruder. Standing next to her bed a juice box in one hand and a cereal bar in the other, she stared back at her, hazel eyes lighting up when she saw she was awake.

She had a kind face, Yennefer noted absentmindedly, framed by wild curls, her skin a few shades darker than her own, the freckles splattered across the bridge of her nose lending her an innocent air that made her relax almost against her will.

"Hey there. You gave us quite a scare, you know? How are you feeling?"

Yennefer stared at her some more, more confused than she had ever been in her life. What the hell was going on here? Had it- Had it worked? Was she dead? Was she in heaven? By the looks of the stranger, she certainly would believe it, though she had some trouble believing that she would end up there. The angel either seemed to not realize the strangeness of the situation or simply refused to acknowledge it, and gave her a soft smile like she was used to this kind of interaction.

"Tired," she answered, not bothering to hide the bewilderment in her voice. "Who-", Yennefer paused to clear her throat, only now realizing how dry it was. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name's Triss," she said, patiently gazing at her.

She debated over whether to give Triss her name or not before giving up. Might as well.

"Yennefer. What happened? How- What are you doing in my house?"

Triss' smile became apologetic, and she tilted her head in an understanding gesture. "Right, yes, of course, this must all seem rather strange. We were just trying to find shelter during the storm and this was the first house we found with the door unlocked. So sorry for intruding."

Unlocked? Of course it was. She was already as good as dead, why bother locking the door on their way out? Though she was surprised her step-father would be so careless as to let his precious military medals collection unguarded. Or maybe he had taken it with him. She wouldn't put it past him. Gods forbid we take the cripple with us, but the dusty antics? Yes, please. She managed to shake herself free from this train of thoughts, knowing from experience how useless it was to go down that rabbit hole, and focused on another troubling element.

"'We'?" She was certainly not reassured when for the first time in this conversation, Triss started to look a little uncomfortable, shifting in her chair uneasily, and cleared her throat.

"Yes, me and my… friends. They're in the kitchen right now, but I'm sure you'll be able to meet them soon. You should just rest for now, but don't hesitate if you need anything."

And with these words, she abruptly got up and left the room, though not before darting a quick but unsubtle look at Yennefer's wrists.

The young woman stared after her for a moment, wondering which of the two of them had lived in this house her entire life exactly, before she shifted her gaze to bandaged wrists and blood-soaked towels.

So.

She had done it.

She had actually gone through with this. And she had failed. A humorless smile spread across her face. Gods, she couldn't even get her death right. She really was a screw-up, wasn't she? Closing her eyes against the morning light, she took a few deep breaths and tried to think.

What now? Her exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but she couldn't exactly ignore the issue. She was stuck in her home with perfect strangers while a fucking apocalypse warred outside. What the hell was she supposed to do about that? Plan A had failed, and it wasn't like she had thought much further than that. Plan B was… starving to death, maybe? Or maybe dehydration would get her first. Or, hey, maybe one of the strangers would be kind enough to finish the job, though the thick bandages and the orange juice box sitting innocently on her bedside table seemed to imply they weren't in any hurry to let her die.

She let her gaze roam over her room for a few seconds before it landed back on the small offerings. She slowly sat up, but that didn't stop a wave of sudden dizziness from hitting her and she had to breathe deeply to keep her nausea at bay, the acrid bile crawling up her throat leaving a bad taste in her mouth. Waiting for the room to stop spinning, she closed her eyes before reaching for the juice box with a trembling hand. It took her a few tries before she managed to poke the straw through the box, sipping greedily before wincing when the sour juice slid down her parched throat. Despite this, she finished the box in a matter of seconds and did equally short work of the cereal bar.

She leaned back against the wall, her mind returning to the more pressing issue. She was stuck here, with no knowledge of what was going outside, of how bad it was. The government's official message warning people about the crisis had been so vague it had done more harm than good. It had been broadcasted over and over again for an entire day, only offering the most basic instructions and barely any information. She could still hear that generic voice in her head, devoid of any emotion in a way that had been far more worrying than reassuring.

_Stay home. Do not, under any circumstance, go outside. Do not meet others, even friends or family. The virus is unknown, dangerous, and spreads quickly. Please wait for more information._

She wondered if this message had come sooner if things would have been different for her.

For Micah.

Gods, she didn't think she would ever be able to forget the way his screams had echoed throughout the street or the shameful relief she had felt when he had finally fallen silent, his throat ripped out by that thing in a shower of blood and gore while she had just stood there, safely inside her house, pressed against the window, unable to move or look away.

His father had rushed out of the house, his old rifle in hand, the one he used to hunt with, the one Micah had shown off to a gaggle of gleefully terrified eight-years-old so long ago, one summer afternoon. But he had been too late, his son already lying dead in a puddle of his own blood at the feet of that creature. He had shot it twice, once in its chest and when it remained standing, once in its head. It had fallen to the ground abruptly and without a sound, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

The grieving man had lifted his son up, cradling him to his chest as though he was still a young boy and had carried him back into their home, shoulders shaking, tears running down his face. He had been too far for her to hear, but she thought he had sobbed quietly. He had always been a quiet, solemn man, Micah's father, not unkind, no, but never smiling either. They had been neighbors her entire life, she had nodded at him in greeting on her way to school every day for many years, and he had never spoken a word to her in all this time.

When the police came by to investigate half-an-hour later, he refused to give them his son, even threatened them with his rifle. Unfortunately for him, one of the police officers was his hunting buddy and told his colleagues that it was okay, that the poor man was just mad with grief, that he would come to his senses soon enough, and that this was a pretty open-and-shut case anyway, what with the body of the killer right there, and so they let him keep his son's body, "out of common decency".

Well _fuck_ common decency.

They stayed there a little while, poking at the strange corpse before finally taking it away and asking around to the horrified neighbors, assuring them that everything was fine and that they had it all under control. No one had believed them then, but they still had all managed to underestimate how big of a lie that had been.

That night, she had woken up with a start to the sound of screaming and begging. She should have stayed in her bed.

Gods, why hadn't she just stayed in her bed?

Micah's parents had spilled out of their house, falling down the stairs of their porch, crawling across their front garden. Their horrified screams had only grown louder when the shuffling corpse of their son had followed them, pale eyes wide and glinting in the moonlight. She had clasped a hand to her mouth at the sight of the large chunk of flesh missing from his neck, trying in vain to push the bile back down her throat.

It was only then, as she watched a boy she had known her entire life rip his parents apart, sinking his teeth into them with the desperation of a feral animal, ignoring their pleading and screaming, that she had begun to realize how utterly fucked they were.

Fear had a way of bringing out the worst in people and the citizens of Vengerberg were no exception. This time, when the police came around, no one had been willing to listen to empty reassurances. People wanted answers, and they wanted them now. Soon enough, they had to retreat to the police station. The angry mob had followed them there and in the chaos, no one had thought to take the new bodies away.

They would never get the opportunity to learn from that mistake.

From what her step-father had told her mother, the creatures had descended on the crowd and had made quick work of it. Nearly half of the town had been gathered there, demanding answers. Some had died in the stampede, others had managed to flee but most had been torn apart. But just like Micah and his parents, they hadn't stayed down for long. The police had been quick to react, efficient too, depending on how one looked at it of course.

Mass hysteria. That's what they had blamed that fucking bloodbath on. And for almost a week, people hadn't questioned it, too busy grieving and fearing for their own lives. Oh, they had muttered to one another and exchanged heavy glances of course, but no one had dared to say anything, not after that ruthless display and the threat of getting devoured by your neighbor.

But then the truth had come out. People had left their houses, their pets, and in some cases, their daughters behind, skipping town in a rush and ignoring every official guideline in the process.

And yet here she was with no idea what to do and a pressing need to pee. Well, she could do something about at least one of those things.

Climbing out of bed was harder than usual, which was saying something. Once she had managed to put both feet on the ground, she waited until the room stopped spinning.

Standing slowly on shaking legs, she grabbed the crutch leaning against the wall and began the long and torturous trek to the bathroom down the hall.

"- can't just leave her here!"

She stumbled to a halt just outside the kitchen and held her breath.

_Triss_.

Leaning against the wall next to the door, she focused on the loud whispers and tried to ignore the way her heart seemed to crawl up her throat.

"Well, it's not like we can just take her with us either!" She didn't recognize that voice, but the other woman seemed just as vehement as Triss.

"Why not?!"

"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding."

"You know I'm not. Come on, are you honestly telling me you'd be fine just leaving her here all alone?"

"Oh for God's sake Triss, the girl tried to kill herself!"

"Sabrina!" 

"We're trying to survive the fucking apocalypse here." The woman's voice was quieter now, but no less urgent. "We don't have time to hold hands, share our deepest secrets and fears, and hug it out. You know what it's like out there. If she isn't ready to fight for her life, she won't stand a chance. You might not like it, and neither do I. But you know I'm right."

"I don't- ..."

Hearing the waver in that soft voice, Yennefer gritted her teeth as she felt tears well up in her eyes. Blinking them away, she roughly shook her head. Why the hell was she even crying? It wasn't like the other stranger was lying or anything, so why the hell couldn't she just stop -

"Tissaia, come on, back me up here."

She couldn't hear whatever Tissaia's answer was, but what did it matter anyway? Not willing to hear yet another perfectly reasonable explanation for why it would be better for everyone to simply let her die for the third time in as many days, Yennefer turned around to limp back to her room. Her nails bit into the soft meat of her palms, a wave of exhaustion hitting her. She was just so tired. Tired of being weak, tired of being pathetic, tired of being herself.

She was yanked out of her thoughts by the sound of a chair scraping against the kitchen floor and approaching footsteps. She tried to hurry up and reach her room but she knew it was already too late. Turning around to see just how screwed she was, she barely caught a glimpse of chestnut hair and pale skin before she tripped and fell in a graceless heap.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, she looked up into arctic blue eyes framed by raised eyebrows and found herself unable to move, no matter how much she wanted to squirm away from that cold, unimpressed gaze.

"Well then, what will it be?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, thank you all so much for the kind comments and the kudos! Hope you'll enjoy this chapter too and that you're all taking care of yourselves. The girls should hit the road in the next chapter, so stay tuned for some actual Yennefer/Tissaia interactions!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there people,  
> Hope you're all doing alright in these strange times and you're all taking care of yourselves. I'm not really sure where this idea even comes from, I just tried to play Resident Evil 2 - and stopped cause it was too stressful - and my brain just went, 'right, Witcher fanfic' and here we are, so... yeah!  
> Have a nice day/night and feel free to leave a comment!


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